


Quel kaima, Mela en' coiamin, Quel kaima

by Jellyfax



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Elvish, Abuse of Khuzdul, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Female Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mentions of Suicide, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfax/pseuds/Jellyfax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Amongst the wagons of fine cloths and hordes of precious metals, were three caskets.</i><br/><i>Three. </i><br/><i>No. </i><br/><i>It couldn’t be. </i><br/><i>Not all three of them. </i><br/>The Durins return to Ered Luin, although not in the way they had promised. Dís has to deal with the loss of her family, a very unwelcome guest, and the possibility that family can be found in the least likely of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am terribly sorry about this whole fic. My Sindarin is bad, but my Khuzdul is worse! 
> 
> This came from a dire need for catharsis (as do most of my fics if I'm honest). I really wanted a fic where Tauriel and Dís get to know each other through their grief.  
> I know there isn't exactly a market for this kind of fic, but for those of you who read this angsty mess, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (the title means "sleep well, love of my life, sleep well")

Dís, daughter of Thráin, sister of Frerin and Thorin Oakenshield, looked out over Ered Luin absently. The winter had been a harsh one, and it had stripped the land of any green that it once may have had. The trees should have been budding by now, but the frosty snaps that had refused to yield were keeping them at bay. It left the land barren.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the hurried clatter of feet across the stone floor. She turned to find a scout panting as he tried to catch his breath.

“ _Azbad Dís_ , there is a band from Erebor, they’ve been spotted a way down the East road.”

The dwarrow paused. There was something else. “But?”

“But … _Azbadu men_ , they carry a mourning banner.”

“No.”

Her last brother, and her two sons. Her only family. They had left more than a year before, and yet she had heard nothing from them, and it worried her. She had known something had gone wrong, she had felt it. A mother knew.

“Who is it? Whose mourning banner do they fly?”

“It … it is house Durin, _Azbadu men_ , I know nothing else.”

Dís felt cold. Her brother. Her sons. Someone had died.

She stood at the brow of the hill, looking at the band of wagons grown larger as they drew close. There were seven wagons in total, some obviously laden with bulky items, judging by their shape, they were probably trinkets, gold to be sold for food and decent clothes, both of which were scarce in the bitter Ered Luin winter.

She saw the banner, it bore the crown, the hammer and anvil, and the seven stars of Durin’s line, but instead of white on rich blue, the embroidery was starkly dark against the white of the cloth.

So it was true.

She soon lost sight of the band as they entered the gates to the city. She made her way, warily, down the slope and towards the gates. The sight that greeted her when she arrived stilled her breath.

Amongst the wagons of fine cloths and hordes of precious metals, were three caskets.

It couldn’t be.

Not all three of them.

Dís felt the strength in her legs fail her, the stone cold and hard beneath her knees. The cry that ripped from her throat was raw, and anguished. She had been expecting something. When they had left she had ripped her brother a new one. She had said that if he returned without her sons he would pay with his life. But they had returned. They had all returned, packaged nicely into simply carved wooden caskets. Wooden, she assumed, because stone was too heavy to carry. One stone casket might have been manageable, but three…

“ _Azbadu men._ ”

Dusting off her mud-stained trousers, she got up shakily, composing herself. There was a dwarrow in front of her she vaguely recognised. His eyes were mossy, and the hat he had scrunched between his hands was distinctly oddly shaped. He had been part of the original company.

“ _Azbad Dís,_ my name is Bofur, I don’t know if you remember me but-”

“Bofur, yes, I remember you.”

“I am so sorry _Azbadu men._ ”

“So it’s true then, my sons … my brother …”

The dwarrow nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. He was grieving as well.

“How?” Her voice sounded choked to her own ears.

“They died bravely, saving the home and the people they loved.”

It was not Bofur who answered her, nor any of the dwarves present. The answer came from a woman, tall and slender, with hair the colour of an autumn sunset, and delicately pointed ears. Dís felt her blood begin to boil. She rounded on Bofur. “You dare bring this Elf into my midst? You bring me my only family, dead, and for added insult come with one of those?”

The elf looked pale. Not beautifully so, as her kind was wont to be, but pallid. “Lady Dís, my name is Tauriel, formerly of the Woodland Realm. I … I accompanied your kin here because … your son, Kili and I …”

The largest dwarf, a dwarrow named Bombur if Dís was not mistaken, placed a hand on the elf’s arm. She took a deep breath and continued. “I loved Kili with all of my being, and he I. I could not allow him to make this final journey alone.”

The laugh that escaped from between Dís’ lips was sharp and bitter, shattering like brittle glass across the cobbled streets. Bofur flinched. “Love?”

“It is true _Azbadu men_ , we saw them fall in love with our own eyes, or we would not have believed it ourselves.”

Dís’ lip curled into a snarl. “You speak ill of the dead, Bofur, and of royalty at that. You are treading a fine line.”

The dwarrow recoiled, glancing back at the elf.

She looked at Dís, steel in her eyes. “I was not certain myself that what I felt was true until I felt his life slip away as I held him in my arms. So often do we not know our own hearts until they are broken.”

She had been there when Kili had died. Her Kili. It couldn’t be. “I care not for these lies! _Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!_ Be gone from my sight _Henful habrûna_!”

The elf’s lips thinned, but she said nothing, only nodding and walking towards the back of the company. As she passed the third casket she paused, her hand reaching up and touching the wood gingerly.

Her voice was soft, but the words were unmistakable. “ _Tak natu yenet, amrâlimê_.”

Dís stilled. “ _Kulhu birâglâbizu_?”

Tauriel looked up, a frown creasing her pale brow, all hardness gone from her gaze. “Sorry?”

“What did you just say?”

Her gaze once again fell to the casket. “ _Tak natu yenet, amrâlimê_.”

“You speak Khuzdul? How does an Elf speak our language?”

The elf swallowed thickly. “He and I … we spent a lot of time together, and we spoke of many things. I spoke to him in Elvish, and he to me in his own tongue.”

“No son of mine would ever speak Khuzdul to outsiders, let alone to an Elf!”

Tauriel flinched visibly.

“Why are you here, elf? Really.”

“He made a promise to me.” She said quietly. Reaching inside her cloak she removed a stone, smooth and no larger than the palm of her hand. “Just as he made a promise to you.”

Dís took the stone with trembling hands. “How?”

“He could not keep his promise to either of us, so I am making sure that I fulfil them for him, or his promise to you at least.”

Turning the stone over in her hands, Dís felt all of the energy drain from her.

“He gave this to you?”

The elf nodded solemnly.

“Then he told you of its significance?”

She nodded once again.

“You do not lie.”

It was not a question, and the elf did not deign it with an answer. Instead she took one last glance at the casket and turned to leave.

Of course, of all of the stubborn pig-headed dwarves to fall in love with an elf, it would have been her Kili. She felt a watery smile tug at the corner of her lips.

“Wait!” Dís called. Tauriel stopped. “If he truly loved you, and you him, then I suppose it would only be appropriate for you to stay for the ceremony. But then you must leave.”

The once defiant elf’s eyes widened, suddenly doe-like, and so much younger than she had seemed before. She bowed low. “ _Diola lle, Arwen en amin._ ”

Dís grimaced. “If you are to stay, then there shall be none of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> Azbad - Lady  
> Azbadu men - My Lady  
> Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul! - I spit on your grave!  
> Henful habrûna! - Knife ear! (an insult lovingly stolen from Dragon Age)  
> Tak natu yenet, amrâlimê - Until we meet again, my love.  
> Kulhu birâglâbizu? - What did you say?
> 
> Elvish:
> 
> Diola lle, Arwen en amin - Thank you, my Lady.


	2. Chapter 2

It was strange to Tauriel, to be surrounded by dwarves in such numbers. Thirteen had seemed such a great deal less than a year ago, and now she could look out of her window at any given moment and there would be throngs, all bearded, laughing and talking in thick, rich Khuzdul. She could see now why Kili was so desperate to save it.

She did not care for the looks the dwarves gave her, she wanted to wander the streets he had told her about so many times. She wanted to see the markets, hear the tavern songs. She wanted to see the world through his eyes, even if it was just a meagre imitation.

It was strange to look back on it. It was like a dream, a fever dream at that. She had known him for less than a year, and yet he had captured her heart in a way that no one had done for the hundreds of years before it. The first thing he had said to her was some quip about what was down his trousers. Of course he would make a crude joke, that was his way. He always seemed to find a way to make light of a bad situation. They had sat for hours that night just talking.

The streets were cobbled, and slick with mud under her feet. The houses and shops were all carven stone, presumable carved straight out of the mountain. Some were adorned with the swirled etching favoured by dwarves all over Middle Earth, but other were simple, with wooden beams and awnings. Tauriel guessed that these were the houses built by the dwarves of Erebor when they arrived. Simple but functional, just what was required, nothing more, nothing less. Dwarves, for all of their mining and hoarding, were practical beings.

It was grey and cold, but the whole place thrummed with life. There was a sadness to it as well, just as any place in mourning would have, but the potential for so much love, and laughter, and life could never be sad for long. He had seemed so different from his kin when they had first met, but now she could see, Kili was the embodiment of his people. He weathered storms with a smile of his face and laughter on his lips.

As she walked out of the centre she looked up over the brow of the hill to the scrub and bare stone beyond the town walls. He had told her about his mountains, about the trips he and his brother would take to the lakes and the high hills. He was clumsy, and had many a story to tell because of it. He made her laugh for the first time in a very long time. She had made a point of visiting every night that week, even if it was just to ask how he fared. She couldn’t tear herself away from him. Even during the day he filled her thoughts with his wry smile, and easy conversation. Legolas had been like a brother to her, but she couldn’t even talk with him the way she talked to Kili. She told him of her parents, of growing up with the King watching over her. She told him of her walks among the stars, or learning to shoot and fight. She talked of the men and women in her guard, and he listened, drinking in every word she said with a genuine fascination.

She made her way to the farthest-most point of the city, leading out towards the ledge looking out over the mountain pass. She could see the still snow-capped peaks, to the East the dark smudges of forest, and to the West the glitter of the far-off sea.

Kili had told her about this place, where you could see the whole world, or so he said. Perhaps it wasn’t the entire world, but as she stood there, the cold mountain air whipping her hair into a storm around her head she could almost hear the gulls cry, and taste the salt on her lips. She could just imagine him here, sitting on the crag’s edge, feet dangling into nothing as though he weren’t on the roof of the world. The mountain was so high, so much closer to the sky than any of the trees in the Greenwood. She wondered what it would feel like just to let go. There was so much space between here and the valley floor. Surely it would feel like flying. Closer to the stars than she had ever walked before. Closer to him, perhaps.

Perhaps it wasn’t the sea she could feel, perhaps it was the Grey Havens calling to her. She was young to be called, but it wasn’t unheard of for an elf to fade out of heartbreak. Even if it were the undying lands calling, she would not heed them. What was there on those isles but an eternity without Kili.

It was foolish. It was childish. It was impulsive. They had spent so brief a time together, but it was more happiness than she ever could have hoped for. She had lost her family when she was young, she had been taken in by King Thranduil, but he was no family to her, and he had made that well known. But when she was with Kili she felt like she was home.

She slowly lifted her arms, letting the wind take the folds of her cloak, billowing like sails behind her.

Oh what she would give to go home.

She let out a choked sob as she fell to her knees. What good would dying do? Even in death they would be apart, for no elf stepped into the halls of Mahal, just as no dwarf ever went into the West. There were some things that could never be.

It was time to put this nonsense to bed. The Lady Dís had been right, she did not belong here, and she never would. Once she had laid her love to rest a final time, she would encase her heart in the mountain with him, and never look back. Her life was far too long to live with a broken heart. Better not to have one at all.


	3. Chapter 3

The return of the company from Erebor was supposed to signal and end for the suffering of their people, but instead it had brought more complications than Dís could have imagined. She had received a raven from her cousin a few days after the band arrived that conveyed his condolences, but also his desire to see her again, and for their people to be reunited once more. It would have been a warm invitation were it not permeated with the idea that she would no longer be a leader in her own right, but rather an exalted citizen under her cousin’s rule. Dain would be a good king, of that she had no doubt. He was already a good leader. However, he had never known what it was to be from Erebor. He had never known what her brother had wanted to create in that kingdom. He did not know their people, and could never have their best interests at heart.

The council consisted of the elders that had survived the dragon’s wroth and had made it to Ered Luin; Jari, Fir, Vir, Freg and Loni, as well as the elders who had welcomed them to the Blue Mountains; the brothers Duf and Buf, Lar, Fáli, and Hor.

It was Hor who spoke first, upon hearing the contents of her cousin’s letter.

“ _Azbad Dís_ , it would seem to me that the easiest option would be for us to take Dain’s hospitality, and be thankful for it. It has been a long time since our people have had the hospitality of anyone with any amount of power. This is a good thing.”

“A good thing? Mahal, old man, do you have so little respect for Durin’s line that you would deny Dís the right to lead her people?” Growled Vir. “And that would be expected even were she not as strong a leader as she is! _Azbad Dís_ has kept our people alive since the fall of Erebor, as much as her brother did. He led our people, but she kept them strong. She has every right to decide our future, and a darn sight more of a right than Dain.”

Hor raised a bushy grey brow, but said nothing. Instead it was Fáli who spoke. “Hor, the lad has a point. We are dwarves of Ered Luin, not of Erebor, and we have never claimed to have any sway over the laws and rulings of the dwarves of Erebor, so why should the dwarves of the Iron Hills?”

Vir bristled a little at the word ‘lad’ but nodded amiably all the same. “Dain is as good a dwarrow as any, and he has proven himself to be a loyal and true ally, but he is not of Erebor. He cannot know what is best for our people.”

Freg, the eldest dwarrowdam among them spoke up, in her wavering voice. “As true as that all is, it has been made clear from Dain’s words that the decision to crown him has been made. They have disregarded Dís entirely, and while I do hate to speculate, I believe that they did so because they think her weak. Whether from loss, or simply because she is not dwarrow, I do not know.”

Dís wanted to scream. Weak? They did not know her! How dare they make such assumptions when she had most likely never even met the council, let alone been able to prove herself to them. She had spent years keeping her people alive, fed, and clothed. She had lived for her people, because that was the way she was brought up. She had always been a princess, but among her people now, she was a queen. She had earned the people’s love and respect, and therefore the right to lead them.

“They look to me expecting weakness. I shall not grant those _bintarg_ the satisfaction!” She snarled defiantly.

“If you wish to deter them, you must show a strong front. If you do not, they will already own you.” The elf’s voice was distinct among the low hum of dwarrow mutterings. Dís turned around. She had not realised the elf was there. She should not have been, it was a closed council even amongst dwarves.

Duf, the younger of the two brothers, face as red as his beard, blustered, “You allow an elf into our council Dís? This will not be stood for! You are supposed to be proving that you can lead, and instead you invite _Henful habrûna!”_

“I allowed nothing.” Dís said firmly, with a pointed look at Tauriel. The elf, to her merit, looked back defiantly, not even the barest flinch. Turning back to the council she continued. “The elf may not have a say, but she _does_ have a point.”

“Have a point?!” Duf spluttered.

“Yes. If we submit to my cousin’s demands straight away, they will strip us all of the power we have spent so many years building. I will still be revered as royalty, but I will have no say in the running of Erebor. I have lived among my people for far too long to care for gold and riches, what I care about is the lives of those under my care. As for you, you are nothing to Dain’s lackeys. You will have to brush up on the skills of those trades that you so willingly left behind all those years ago.”

The Ered Luin dwarves gaped at her with a mixture of awe and violent distaste, but her own council members were beaming broadly, and even Freg’s usually sombre face was graced with a small smile.

“Then we shall have to make arrangements to negotiate.” Hor said with a sigh.

“We shall do so at our next meeting then.” Dís said wryly. “Council adjourned.”

As the council dispersed, Vir made his way over to her. “It is good to see that fire in you again. I was worried that is may have been lost with you brother and sons.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in a little closer. “However, I believe that bringing an elf to the council meetings may have been a step too far.”

Dís frowned. “I did not bring her. She made her own way here, a mistake for which she will be chastised. She is here as a guest and will be leaving once the funeral ceremony is over.”

Vir glanced over at the elf and nodded, smiling again at Dís before following the others out of the room.

Dís glared at the elf. It was strange spending more than a few moments around her. She had always known elves to be almost ethereal, wisps of haughty immortality, always believing themselves to be so far above everyone else. But the woman in front of her now was none of that. She was sturdy, strong and wilful. She wondered briefly if she were a troublesome daughter, or whether there were more elves like her.

The thought was banished from her mind as the elf moved towards the window. She looked out of it wistfully.

“What right do you think you have to be here?”

Tauriel did not turn to meet her gaze. “I had no right, that much is true. Only insight.”

“Insight? You, elf, thought that you had more insight into dwarven politics than a room full of dwarves?”

This time the elf did turn to face her. “You yourself admitted that I had a valid point.”

“I shall not confine you to your rooms, but know this. If you are found to be anywhere you should not be, it shall be considered trespassing, and you will be escorted to the gate. My allowing you to stay until the funeral was a kindness. But in times like this, my kindness is stretched thin. Do not test me.”

Tauriel seemed to open her mouth to argue, but closed it again instead. “I … I understand.”

She turned back to the window once more, and Dís could see the brazen confidence all but gone from her expression. She breathed in deeply and sighed. For just a moment Dís saw not the elf, trespassing on her home, and her mourning, but a young woman who had lost everything she once held dear. That was a feeling Dís knew all too well, and seeing it stung.

But this was an elf, and elf who claimed much, but could prove little. She would not allow such sentimentality for such a creature. It was her people who had left her family to die on the slopes of Erebor all that time ago. From what she had heard, this she-elf was ward of the Great Betrayer himself; Thranduil. She could not accept that her son, her beautiful boy, barely a beard on him, could have fallen for such a woman. She was perhaps beautiful for her kind, and Kili not typically attractive for his, perhaps she looked his way in a way that he had not experienced before. At least not in the way Fili had, his golden hair and full beard would have made him popular even without his breeding. She was certain he would have had any pick of dwarrowdams from Ered Luin alone. Instead he was being prepared to return to the stone one last time. Both of her beautiful boys were.

She took one last look at the elf before stalking out of the room, eyes burning and fists balled. Mahal help her, she did not have the strength for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> Azbad - Lady  
> Bintarg - Beardless ones  
> Henful habrûna! - Knife ear!


	4. Chapter 4

Tauriel had always been known for her pig-headed insolence, but she had always got away with it due to her position as Captain, and as ward of the King. Now she had overstepped a line. The woman who she had been so desperate to meet, the woman with King Thorin’s broad shoulders and strong chin, but her Kili’s kind, bright eyes, hated her even more. She had hoped … oh what had she hoped?! That the woman would take her into her arms, and her home? That she would accept her as a daughter? What had she been thinking?

She dried the last of the wash water from her shoulders before stepping into the only clean dress she had left. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and thread the lace through the eyelets, criss-crossing them and pulling them together.

Tauriel frowned.

She was certain that she had lost weight since she had left Erebor. She had barely eaten, and she had been travelling for months across barren terrain, fighting off the cold, the damp, and the odd few orcs, yet still her clothes felt tight. She pulled the fabric as far around her middle as she could manage, pulling the strings tighter. It felt uncomfortable, but it would have to do.

She didn’t want to think about it, about how the sleeves fell loose, but her waistline was too thick for the fabric. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. It was a dream that would never be.

Still. She needed to get fitted for a mourning gown anyway. A few new sets of clothes could do no harm. It was not unheard of for a woman in mourning to change in shape, it was a wonder she hadn’t already faded and felt the call of the West for the emptiness in her chest.

There was a firm rapping at her door. Tauriel hurriedly wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, hiding her ill-fitting dress as well as possible.

“Lady Tauriel?”

It was the voice of the largest dwarf of their company. “Bombur, please, come in, and don’t call me ‘Lady’, I am no nobility, certainly not now. Tauriel will do just fine.”

The dwarrow poked his large, red head around the door before stepping inside. “Tauriel, I came to see how you’re doing.”

Her gaze fell to the floor. “As well as can be expected.”

There was silence between them for a moment before Bombur spoke again. “Look, I know that we haven’t always been on the best of terms, none of us, but I was hoping that you might join us all for dinner. It has been a long time since I have sat down to dinner with my whole family, and I should like to have you there as well.”

“I … thank you. I would like that.” Her smile was small but genuine. Before he left, Tauriel begged him one last favour. “I need some clothes, mourning clothes. I was wondering if you knew a tailor who wouldn’t mind dressing an elf.”

Bombur beamed. “Come to dinner and you shall meet the best tailor Ered Luin has to offer!”

Tauriel nodded affirmingly, albeit a little confused.

*

Bombur’s house was, relatively, larger than many of the others Tauriel had passed on her way through the town. However the reason for that became apparent the moment she ducked under the low beam of the front door. Inside was a throng of red headed dwarven children, squealing and chasing one another around the modest dwelling. Some seemed barely toddlers, while others had beards already growing in. At the sight of her, all of the commotion stopped. There was a dead silence and dozen bright little eyes on her. Then one of the smaller girls piped up, pointing a podgy hand towards her.

“ _Sakhaya!_ _Urus zeleg!_ ”

One of the older children glared at the little girl and picked her up roughly.

“ _Takata._ ” He grumbled at her, before turning to Tauriel sceptically. “You’re the elf?”

Tauriel raised a slender brow. “What gave me away? Was it the ears, or perhaps the fact that I am twice your height?”

The boy’s eyes widened, and Tauriel wasn’t certain that she hadn’t offended him terrible, before he guffawed a laugh worthy of his father. “ _Adâd_ , you never said she was funny!”

Another booming laugh came from the doorway, and Tauriel turned to see Bombur, face smudged with flour, with a dirty apron tied haphazardly around his waist. “Tauriel! I see you’ve already met my brood!”

Tauriel looked at the gaggle of children around her. There had to be half a dozen of them. “Are they all yours?”

Bombur nodded, ruffling the hair of the nearest child. “All seven! Or so my wife tells me. I say we should round it up to an even eight, but Bruni refuses to have another.”

“And if you had to carry and birth them, you would refuse as well!” Came a voice from behind her.

Tauriel turned around to see a stocky dwarrowdam, with long, thick chestnut hair, and a braided beard to match. She regarded the elf with dark, intelligent eyes.

“Bruni dearest, this is who I was telling you about.” Bombur said gesturing to Tauriel. “Tauriel of the Woodland Realm. Tauriel, this is my wife Bruni.”

“Formerly of the Woodland Realm.” Tauriel began. “Well met, Bruni, wife of Bombur.”

Bruni’s laugh was as rich as pealing bells. “My, you elves _are_ formal! No need for all that! Now my husband tells me you are in need of some clothes?”

“You are a seamstress?”

“Tailor will do just fine here, we don’t discriminate. We all have fine beards and just as much talent as one another. I only wish the damn royalty would see it that way as well.”

Bombur wrapped a thick arm around his wife’s waist and pressed a kiss to her bearded cheek. “Now, now, Bruni, we’ll have none of that while we have guests.

Bruni snorted. “This lug leaves me on my own with seven children for close to two years and he thinks he can just swan back in and order me about! The gall!”

Bombur let out a deep bellied laugh. “My dear, if any man, dwarrow, or elf ever tried to order you about, he would be left in a sorry state and no mistake!”

“That’s true enough, but you’re right, Bifur and your brother will be along soon, and Mahal knows I don’t want to get that pair started!”

The dwarrowdam turned to Tauriel and smiled warmly.

“Tauriel, dear, just come through to the back and I’ll take a look at your measurements while Bombur finishes the dinner.”

Tauriel nodded silently and followed the buxom dwarrowdam through to one of the back rooms, ducking under the doorframe once more.

“Now, just take off your cloak and let me take a look at you.”

Tauriel did as she was told, untying the cloak by her neck, and slipping it off her shoulders to reveal the ill-fitting dress underneath.

“Oh dear!” She said, taking in the sorry state of Tauriel’s clothes. “It won’t just be mourning clothes you’ll be wanting, you’ll need a whole new wardrobe this far along!”

Tauriel frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well you can’t very well wear those clothes any more, and even what I make you now won’t fit you soon, unless I include extra panelling that can be let out as you grow…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Bruni paused. “My dear, you don’t need to pretend with me, I have had enough children of my own to know a pregnant woman when I see her, elf or no.”

Tauriel blanched. “No, I’m not … I mean … I suspected, but I … it’s not possible.”

The look Bruni gave her was kind, and not a mite sad. “We can get a healer to look at you if you’d prefer, but I’d bet my braid you have a child in your belly.”

The look Tauriel gave her was enough to make the dwarrowdam sigh heavily. “Have you been feeling tired of late? Perhaps lost your appetite, felt a little nauseous?”

“I … yes, but I have been travelling for many months, and I am grieving. It is to be expected.”

“Oh yes, but would your clothes fit you so if that were all it was?”

Tauriel placed a hand gingerly to the slight swell of her stomach. It couldn’t be true. She could never have hoped that it could be true. And yet the more she thought about it, the clearer it became. Those nights in Laketown, the cautious touches, hesitant kisses, the feel of his skin against hers. She had told him that he must regain his strength, not waste it on such frivolous pursuits, but he had laughed and kissed her and told her that she was the most wonderful frivolity he had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

She withdrew her hand, clamping it over her mouth to cover the choked sob that followed.

Those restless nights, unable to sleep, but wavering from exhaustion throughout the day. She would never let anyone see it. She was a Captain of the guard, or at least she had been. She was strong, she wouldn’t let a little exhaustion get to her. She had suffered worse. Even when the smoke from the fire had caught in the back of her throat and made her vomit, she had hidden it. The dwarves were mourning, and the last thing they needed was a frail, weeping woman. They needed the elf who shot arrows before asking questions, one who could hear wargs at five leagues, and kill them at one. She was there as an escort, and a guard. It was her duty.

If only she had paused for just a minute to think.

She felt a warm, steadying hand on her arm. She looked down to see Bruni, her brown eyes dark with concern.

“ _Namadith_ , my husband has told me a little of who you are, and of the reason for you staying here. Is the father who I think it is?”

Tauriel nodded silently.

“Oh my. _Anakhkhashi._ ” Bruni said softly. Tauriel did not know what the word had meant, but the tone was apparent enough. “Would you like your mourning dress in white?”

“White?”

Bruni raised a brow. “Yes, it is dwarven tradition to grieve in white.”

Tauriel paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I … I wish to respect your traditions, but elves grieve in black. I … was hoping that you could make me something in black.”

Bruni hummed. “Black is slimming I suppose, and it will hide that growing bump of yours better than white. I am sure I could find a large enough swathe of black fabric to suit. You will stand out, though.”

“I would stand out anyway.”

“That is true.”

Bruni was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “Did anyone else know of your suspicions?”

Tauriel shook her head. “It was a dream, a silly, far off dream. I did not believe it was true, and I had no confidant. Who do you tell your dreams to but the stars?”

The dwarrowdam nodded. “I shall make you a few dresses in darker colours, to hide what you wish for as long as you wish. But no matter how much you wish it, you cannot hide it forever.”

“I do not wish to hide it. Your people may hate me for my race, and mine for the child I carry, but if I truly am with child, then it is a child created out of love, and born out of sorrow. It shall be a child of two worlds, but it shall be the only part of him left to me, and I would not hide that for all of Eä.”

Bruni’s smile was warm and bright, but tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “ _Azbadu men,_ I do not know many elves, but whosoever labelled your kind as cold and heartless clearly never met you. No matter what the rest of the world says, you will always be welcome under my roof.”

Tauriel wasn’t certain that her eyes did not mirror Bruni’s own, but before she had time to consider it, the raucous shouts of several dwarrow could be heard from the other room. Bruni handed her her cloak and gestured towards the door.

“Come now, it sounds like the boys are here. There’s no mood that Bombur’s cooking can’t fix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> Sakhaya! - Look!  
> Urus zeleg! - A Fire-Star!  
> Takata - Be quiet  
> Adâd - Father  
> Namadith - Little sister  
> Anakhkhashi - I continue your grieving  
> Azbadu men - My Lady


	5. Chapter 5

The night was surprisingly mild for so early in the year. It was barely March, but the breeze that rustled the curtains in her chambers wasn’t enough to chill her through, although it was still enough to make her wrap her shift tighter around her. She looked out over the city and sighed deeply. So many of her people would want to move on now, back to the home they remembered. Rose-tinted Erebor. They had been gone so long, would they be disappointed with what they found? Thorin had fought for so long to get their home back, but now that it was reclaimed, Dís found that she had no desire to go back to that mountain. All that was there for her were memories of smoke and death. But she would go where her people went. That was her duty.

She had been brought up to think about others first. It was the way all of Durin’s line were expected to act. Every day had been an assortment of etiquette lessons, weapons training, and making sure to be seen among the people. Thrór was growing more distant by the day, and Thráin made sure that their people did not lose heart over it. Thráin cared about his father’s kingdom a great deal.

Dís could remember the first time she had been truly selfish. She had been on one of her frequent visits to the southern crystal mines. Comparatively, the crystal mines were shallow and airy, and assigned to her as a dwarrowdam, while her brothers inspected the deeper silver and diamond mines. The rock at this level was lighter too, an earthy brown rather than the deep grey elsewhere. It was easy to see, the further you went, where the translucent rivulets of gemstone ran, speckling the rock with grey, and white, and rose, and turquoise. They wouldn’t shine, of course, until they were properly cut and polished, but they still caught the torchlight in iridescent flushes. She had never liked mines in general, but this one was one of her favourite places in the mountain.

As she had been inspecting a particularly fine specimen of rose coloured gem, she heard a faint rumble, and a shout from further inside the mine. Just as she felt flecks of rock litter her shoulder, a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around her and pinned her to the wall. All she could do was let out a surprised squeak as a large crack resounded through the mine and dust and rocks began to rain down on them.

Dís could feel the harsh breaths of the dwarrow pressed against her, heavy and warm. As the dust settled he removed himself from her and dusted himself off. “ _Azbadu men_ , are you hurt?”

Dís patted herself down, she ached a little from being pressed against the jagged rock, but she seemed to be all in one piece. “No, thank you, I am only grazed, and quite dirty. But a bit of dirt never hurt anyone.”

The dwarrow who had saved her was a good few inches taller than her, with sharp grey eyes, and what she was sure was a thickly braided, blonde beard, under the gravel and rock dust that had painted him somewhat clay-coloured. He scratched the back of his neck, more dust falling from him in clouds as he did. “I am not certain that’s true, _Azbadu men_. You ask some of the older miners and they’ll tell you that this dust gets in your lungs, makes it terrible difficult to breathe after a century or so.”

Dís frowned. “Is that true?”

The dwarrow frowned back. “I would not lie to you, _Azbadu men_.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Rather I meant that I am surprised that anyone is allowed to work in conditions that pose such a significant risk to their health.”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry, it’s true of all miners, all got a bit of Black Lung.” He replied, slapping his chest.

Dís’ frown deepened. “This won’t do. It won’t do at all.”

The dwarrow raised a dusty brow. “Won’t do?”

“I can’t allow some of our finest workers to be put in this much danger on a daily basis. It isn’t fair.”

He chuckled. “We’re miners, danger is a prerequisite.”

“Fine, avoidable danger.” She huffed, much to the dwarrow’s amusement. “Perhaps if I could sort out masks, just to keep you from breathing in too much of the dust, would that help?”

An odd expression, something akin to exasperated fondness crossed his face, but he nodded all the same. “Aye, I think it might.”

She nodded firmly in return. “Right. Good day to you then.”

He bowed shallowly, and Dís turned to leave. As she did so she heard the dwarrow’s voice follow after her.

“It suits you.”

She spun around. “What?”

“The dirt, it suits you.” He called down the mine shaft, smiling wryly. “Not so shiny and perfect covered in dust, _Azbadu men_ , just another dwarrowdam with a nice smile and a fine beard.”

She had seen that the miners got masks, every last one of them. Some complained, but most understood the sentiment, and were grateful that the thought had been spared. Dís had tried very hard not to think of the tawny dwarrow she had met in the mine, but the way he had made her blush, complimenting her beard of all things. She ran a hand down her neatly clipped facial hair. She was proud of her beard, but it was nothing spectacular. Her cousin Hannar had enough to braid into two fine plaits, with beads that tinkled every time she moved her head. Dís had hated her for it, but then neither of her brothers kept their beards long, so she supposed it was a family trait. No one made fun of a Durin’s beard.

The dwarrow was there again the next time she visited the crystal mines, and again the time after that. He worked there so it was only proper, but what was not proper was the way he smiled at her, and bit his lip when the colour rose in her cheeks. She tried not to pay him any special attention. She was a princess, he was a miner, but there was something about him she couldn’t shake. His name was Vili, his father was Erebor born and bred, but his mother had been from Ered Luin. He had wanted to be a weaver, like his father, but was all thumbs. In fact he took very little from his father but his golden hair. His favourite colour was purple, like the heather scrub that grew on the mountainside, and his favourite smell was the wax that Dís used on her hair. He had let that one slip, and had done nothing but blush furiously for the rest of the day. Dís had laughed and laughed and he had shut her up with a kiss.

It was improper, and simply not done, but Princess Dís, daughter of Thráin, granddaughter of Thrór, had fallen in love with a miner. They had met in secret after that, so as not to get caught, but Thorin and Frerin knew her better than that. When they had followed her, and discovered what she was up to, Thorin had been livid. Frerin had done nothing but smile. Vili, she was fairly sure, had soiled himself. Thankfully it had not taken Frerin long to calm Thorin and make him see reason. She was expected to do everything for duty, but her heart could not be so bound. So she had, with her brothers’ help, petitioned to her father, in the hope that Vili may have been able to court her publicly. Thráin had raised a brow, and sighed heavily, but consented with a sad smile. He had hoped to keep his daughter a little longer, but was glad that she had found love, even if it was not going to help the kingdom in any way. Shrewd as she was, Dís had countered that marrying a miner could do nothing but strengthen the people’s trust and faith in the monarchy. How could a princess be more in touch with her people than by marrying one of them? Thráin had laughed his booming laugh and told her he was proud to call her his daughter, and trusted her judgement.

But before she had time to be happy, her life had started to fall apart around her. First came the dragon, Smaug, taking her home and her husband’s livelihood. They had wandered together, led by Thorin and Thráin, a lost people, homeless but strong in spirit. If the people had ever doubted their loyalty, they could see it now. They were no longer royalty, but they were respected now more than ever before. They moved to Dunland for a while, and she and Vili had been married. After a time Thrór, in his madness, took an army north to reclaim Moria. Instead he got himself, and his youngest grandson killed. Dís grieved as she had never grieved before, and Vili had not known how to comfort her. He had held her as she sobbed and screamed and cursed her grandfather’s name. They had moved then to Ered Luin, and her belly had swollen with their first child. The sun had shone bright and warm the day her son had been born, squalling and red-faced, with hair as gold as his father’s. She had named him Fili, and he was the sun in their lives at the darkest time.

The dwarves of Erebor had settled in their new home, and had started to rebuild when the next loss came to her. She was heavy with her second son when her father, remaining brother, and husband had gone to war again. Only her brother had returned, a streak of silver in his dark hair, and grief in his eyes.

Dís shuddered despite the mild night air. She did not want to think about that time. It had been dark. Darker than she could have ever imagined. Her thoughts strayed to the elf. How could she even begin to know that pain? How could she even pretend? Dís hated her for it, for acting so aloof when she was supposed to be grieving. There was no other option but for her to be lying. Lying to the mother of the boy she claimed to love? That was lower than even Elven scum normally sank.

Then she remembered the haunted look behind the elf’s eyes, the shadows in her face, and the baleful way she looked out onto the city. Elves did not show their emotions readily. Perhaps she was jumping to conclusions. Maybe even this was more mourning than many elves did.

She sighed heavily and moved away from the window. She would never know unless she asked, and she could never live with herself if she never asked. She owed it to Kili, born before dawn on a bitter winter’s day. He was not the sunlight that his brother had been, he looked nothing like his father, all dark hair and eyes, but when she saw his face she had cried for the first time since his father’s death. She had cried and all her love that she had locked away came spilling forth. Never again would she become what she had done then. Never again would she waste that. She owed that to them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> Azbadu men - My Lady


End file.
